


Slick

by murakistags



Series: Kofi Gift-Requests [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Sex, Graphic Description, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Mild Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sounding, Tenderness, Urethral Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 20:19:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13015386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murakistags/pseuds/murakistags
Summary: A gift-request fromcqlle: "Hannibal introduces Will to sounding and it goes excellent. Bonus if tongues are mentioned. Also bonus for Hannibal laying everything out surgeon style."





	Slick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pastelgothshellder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelgothshellder/gifts).



> This is a gift for my friend Erin! They're awesome and very sweet. They've also fed me, so I am a happy and extremely grateful Mura.
> 
> This isn't beta'd and I've only finished writing it in the past hours, so please forgive any mistakes.
> 
> Bon appétit.

Will exhales deeply. And again. The silence around him is numbing, the perfect warmth of the room air turns his limbs to putty. He is supine. He relaxes and his bent knees fall apart to the bed, ankles rolled inwards and the bottoms of his feet pressed together. The open space between his parted legs has created a diamond shape, at the head of which his soft cock sits in a dark thatch of curls.

 

He’s utterly at peace. Pliable, content, comfortable. Lingering somewhere on the verge between blissful sleep and quiet wake, Will can only register things of the physical realm. His mind is blank, thinking of nothing but how his soft cotton shirt feels against his nipples. The silky quality of duvet fluffing beneath his naked lower body. The pillow curling to take the shape of his head and cradle it.

 

Will is waiting, but there is no haste tonight. A heavy dinner of pork and red sauce has left him satiated. It took but one single kiss and Hannibal’s promise of return, to drop Will’s body to the bed.

 

Lost in this dream-like daze of utter calm, Will craves pleasure. He does not yearn, does not claw desperately, but instead moves with the grace of a delicate beast. The twinge in the pit of his belly may encourage him to move faster, harder, but he effectively ignores it. When Will wraps his calloused hand around his flaccid cock and begins working himself smoothly, he is distinctly aware that this new type of savoring is the result of Hannibal’s particularly brand of sexual conditioning.

 

“I asked you to relax,” Hannibal’s voice speaks up softly, unwilling to shatter the silence. He eases his accented tone into the space with as much gentle awe as the first time he’d penetrated Will Graham’s body. How sweet that blade felt, dipping into skin and ousting the flames of Hannibal's bitter pain of being deceived. He’s never felt so far removed from that night, until now.

 

“I know.” Will sighs, long and deep, and continues to finger around his cock with slow, writhing strokes. “But this feels good.”

 

Hannibal reenters the bedroom and shuts the door behind him, wearing the look of a starving man. His eyes have sunken to a dilated black at the sight of his open beloved. He is nearly struck blind by the artwork of flesh laid out upon the bed they share. Oh, he is in love.

 

“Very well, then.” Hannibal seems outwardly nonplussed though his mouth is watering.

 

Approaching the bedside affords him a more potent whiff of Will’s body: spice, firewood, intimate musk, soap. The very beginnings of sweat and sex and hot blood. Hannibal could eat him right up. He could crawl his naked body right over Will’s own right then, and claim him with a feral passion. Fuck him into the mattress until every spasm is a shared bliss, and their bodies have melted together with sweaty heat, semen and saliva. Teeth and nails and all. But what Hannibal has planned for tonight requires an exquisite tenderness of focus, and the thought of it alone is enough to reclaim his desire to see it through.

 

Will, spread open and palming his half-hard length, doesn’t bother opening his eyes and looking up. That is, until he hears the distinct click of metal upon metal. In some primitive part of his brain, that sound is mildly jarring, and it rustles up the dust of unpleasant old memories. Suddenly, his bubble of quietude bursts. Will peers up just in time to see Hannibal setting down a metal tray on the bed, and picking up a luxuriously plush bath towel.

 

“What’s this?” asks Will, releasing his thickening length and instead grinding elbows into the bed. He hunches forward to sit up, to catch a glimpse of what Hannibal could be up to. But the mysterious tray is covered with a small towel and plastic. And he’s soon having to lean back again when Hannibal smiles and dotingly spreads the bath towel on the bed, tucking it in snugly beneath Will’s backside.

 

“I’d like very much to try this with you, as I’ve said,” says Hannibal. He is standing at the foot of the bed, with hands folded across his lower belly as if his own cock isn’t hard and jutting sinfully just beneath.

 

“That still doesn’t tell me what  _ this _ is.” The necessity for a protective towel inspires some audible hesitance in Will.

 

“Sounding.”

 

“…‘uh?” Not that Will doesn’t  _ know _ . He’s heard some things. Seen some things. His surprise is evident. It curls his toes with almost instantaneous nervousness.

 

Hannibal, like a happy little duckling, chirps while peeling opening a pack of sterile, blue nitrile gloves. “Sounding,” he repeats, accent too smooth on the word. “The act of inserting sounding rods—the ones I’ve purchased are high-grade surgical steel, of course—of different size gauges, into the—”

 

“I fucking  _ understand _ .” Will interjects, flustered and with both his face and neck steadily turning rosy. Somehow the idea of Hannibal purchasing these things, all in preparation for this moment, leaves Will feeling a strange brand of embarrassment.

 

Hannibal is quite the opposite. He is neither willing to purposefully frighten Will, nor to allow him to tense up after the previous moments of calm. It won’t do to undo the settling.

 

“You’re tensing,” Hannibal says. He’s afraid he must admit that he definitely takes a minute pleasure from the way Will flinches when he snaps on the nitrile gloves with a practiced finesse. “Do you trust me, Will?” 

 

Will recalls just then that last time he had something in his dick, it was because Hannibal had sliced him open. It was so bad that even pissing of his own volition was not an option. Not unless he wanted his stitches to tear and his guts to feel like they’re falling out. Again. If Hannibal weren’t so naked, Will very well might’ve been fucking terrified.

 

The tray is uncovered, and what is neatly laid out there is a stunningly crisp image. Upon cloth is a small tube of Surgilube, an extra pair of gloves. Both next to a row of gleaming steel rods. Each one is rather long, smoothed and rounded on the ends, and with a mild curvature. The set of twelve rods start from a very thin diameter and increase to impossibly thick.

 

Will eyes the tray as if it’s a live bomb. “…Is this safe?”

 

“Entirely.” Hannibal sits by Will’s hip, leaning in. His hazel-red eyes offer comfort and sincerity. An elbow braces on the inside of Will’s bent knee.

 

“You’ll enjoy it. I promise you that.”

 

They’re almost face-to-face like this, Hannibal moving in, Will still hunched forward and braced up on his elbows. Hannibal closes the distance, and breathes in the added intimacy.

 

He looks into Will’s blue eyes and sees such vivid beauty, life, love. There is a trust, too, but in this moment it is only budding. That is particularly striking to Hannibal: that Will expresses hesitance and concern, and with meager reassurance is already beginning to accept the situation. What a cunning boy.

 

“You’re sure?”

 

“I wouldn’t suggest it otherwise.”

 

Hannibal has to hold himself against a scathing ‘Yeah, right.’ gaze from Will. But he does endure it, and smiles lovingly, and captures Will’s mouth with his own.

 

The first brush of kiss is remarkably tender, slow and soft. Searching. They part only briefly to breathe, and when they return to a deeper kiss, this time their tongues meet before their lips do. Will curls an arm around Hannibal’s neck to both hold himself up and pull the other man closer. They lap and lickle into one another for the taste and warmth. The familiarity of it arouses Hannibal to the point of throbbing, and comforts Will.

 

“I trust you,” Will answers belatedly. His eyes are half-lidded, heart thrumming high in anticipation. Hannibal swears, with forehead pressing in against Will’s curls, that he’s never seen a more radiant man.

 

He then draws back and sets to work. Will flops back down to his pillow, trying to understand why he hasn’t just said “no” to this already. Mortified, watching Hannibal flick open the lube and anoint a medium-sized steel rod, Will realizes that his belly is not clenching with fear, but with  _ want _ .

 

“That’s too thick,” chimes Will, stubbly chin pressed to his chest as he looks down at the scene between his legs.

 

Hannibal pushes down and out on Will’s knees to further part his thighs, and gathers up Will’s semi-hard cock. That evokes a small grunt; the texture of rubber glove between Will’s legs is very unfamiliar. Right at the slit, Hannibal adds a generous dollop of clear lube. Another grunt from Will, and he can practically feel the skin thickening further. Slowly.

 

“This is an appropriate size,” answers Hannibal. And he is positive of this, but doesn’t wish to compound fear by explaining with detail in this very close, intimate, trusting moment. The rod he’s chosen is no thicker than the size of an average catheter, and will definitely slide in with ease.

 

He takes the tip of the slicked rod and teases circles around the head of Will’s length.It leaves shiny trails on the tan-pink skin. Will tightens both hands into the bedsheets then, breathing heavier against the throbbing rhythm of his heart.

 

“It’s too thick,” he bursts again, quietly in an unbridled moment of last-second panic.

 

“Look at me, Will.”  Hannibal pauses, stares at his lover, and waits for his gaze to be met. Will’s elusive stare is always hard-won, and this time is no exception. But it is crucial, and so Hannibal waits until he can stare back into blue, nod, and then add his soft whisper again: “Trust me.”

 

In the seconds before Will gives his own nod of approval, the nudge to set things in motion again, Hannibal idly strokes at Will’s shaft. Giving gentle squeezes, creating a positive sensation to pair with the new one to come. By then, he’s almost fully erect.

 

“Take a deep breath in,” Hannibal instructs, lips together but curved into a thin smile.

 

Will obliges and sucks in warm air, focus back to staring down at that rod and his waiting cock.  _ What the fuck am I doing _ .

 

“And out…”

 

Will exhales on command. He watches the exact second the slick tip of metal rod gently stretches open the tip of his urethra, and then slides into his penis just a smidgen.

 

“Oh  _ fuck _ —” Will exclaims, more because of the sight rather than the mild burning sensation. Distantly, Will realizes why Hannibal’s laid the towel: he instantly feels the vague need to urinate, but he easily resists that urge. He’s momentarily tensing again, anyway.

 

“Beautiful,” Hannibal whispers, awestruck. His hands must remain steady like this, and his eyes must remain on target and careful. Hannibal can feel when Will’s head falls back and his chin tilts to the ceiling, and he longs to watch that marvelous sight. Will Graham, tortured between sexual desire and shame, is always a marvelous sight to behold. So Hannibal sneaks a glance, and is sated by what he sees there.

 

Will’s thigh muscles are visibly pulled taut, deciding whether they want to close or fall open further. His eyes are glazed over with equal parts lust and disbelief, and his clothed chest is heaving for breath. Just lower, bunching handfuls of the bedsheets, Will’s hands are powerful. Hannibal knows the extent of that brute power, and relishes that this moment has come without an earnest protest. It makes this moment so much sweeter.

 

Hannibal wraps one gloved hand around Will’s shaft, hold light but steadying. As he pulls upwards on the smooth skin and subsequently allows his hold to loosen on the rod, it slides in further with the help of gravity. Right along the smooth curve. Sinking itself deeper into Will’s body. With slick and smooth ease, just as Hannibal had anticipated.

 

“Haaah—” The sound Will makes is low and keening. He’d meant to say  _ Hannibal _ , but that feeling had other plans. “This is strange— _ nnh _ . It burns.”

 

“I know,” Hannibal answers, offering another glance. Bending down, he rests a clean-shaven cheek against Will’s upper thigh, nuzzling into the hairy leg to offer comfort. Hannibal kisses the skin there. He inhales a deep breath of musk; Will’s starting to sweat. “Does it hurt?”

 

“Not particularly.” But it hurts a bit to watch. And though Hannibal caresses and comforts, there is still a rod sticking out the tip of Will’s penis, and he’s unsure of whether he wants more or less of it. The sensation is strange, Will thinks. A building pressure, a gentle stretch, and a faint simmer. But it isn’t painful in the slightest, it isn’t a displeasure to feel, and Hannibal has thus far been exceptionally tender.

 

On the underside of Will’s cock, Hannibal’s gloved fingertips can distinctly feel the thickness sliding into hardened flesh. It traces down exact line of urethra and sinks lower, to the depth at the base of Will’s cock. Hannibal’s grip loosens. And this time when the rod glides deeper, Will hisses in protest at the same time his hips involuntarily give a small flick upward.

 

“Stop there.” Will’s voice is strained. The pressure has him perilously on the rickety bridge between pleasure and pain.

 

Hannibal goes very still, watching and waiting. In the moment of unspoken words and heavy breathing, a clear dribble of excess lube slithers slowly down Will’s cock. Hannibal keeps the steel still, but begins to stroke with his other hand. The result is Will’s cock definitively harder than before, thick and engorged with blood around where the rod sits within.

 

“ _ Oh _ .”

 

“How does that feel?” A glance upwards shows that Will’s eyes have closed, and his cheeks have blushed to burning. Hannibal gives a deft roll of his wrist, using the lube against glove to caress with a tighter grip.

 

“Don’t stop.”

 

Hannibal doesn’t stop.

 

Will is halfway to panting and begging already. In only seconds, he’s crossed the line from hesitant to needy. Hannibal basks in it, and retaliates with what Will thinks is the most sensual pumping of his cock that he’s ever felt in his whole goddamn life. The pressure in his pelvis mounts, but it is too sweet to let him draw back.

 

Hannibal gives the length of rod a gentle tilt inward right when his hand has dropped to the base of Will’s cock. Fingers scoop up Will’s scrotum and give a firm squeeze, rolling the firmness of balls against one another. Then fingertips dip underneath, adding a firm rub at the hot, quivering skin above Will’s entrance. Added pressure to his prostate, by Hannibal’s keen hands.

 

Will practically sees glimmering stars erupt in his vision. Whatever Hannibal’s just done to him will surely be his death.

 

His eyes creak open and he moans unabashedly loud, met with the scene of a sinner. Hannibal has released the sounding rod so it sits snugly and juts lewdly from the tip of Will’s cock. And that cock is red, rock-hard, throbbing, and now stroked along by the smooth texture of blue gloves. Hannibal’s other hand disappears into the shadow between Will’s legs.

 

But it’s the sight, too. The sheer look on Hannibal’s face alone is enough to get Will off: wanton, pupils dilated, cheeks pink, lips parted to suck heavy breaths he most likely aren’t even aware of.

 

“Will…” Hannibal moans softly, approvingly.

 

Will groans out in return, the sound part way a needy, beastly growl. Hips buck upwards and then back, both fucking himself on that rod and into Hannibal’s palm, then grinding down to the firm rub of Hannibal’s fingers. He is lost in the ministrations, dazed by the intense feeling.

 

“Come for me.” Hannibal wets his lips greedily, continues to pump Will hard. Every stroke teases with a pressure and heat. Inadvertently, Hannibal’s own hips rut down against where the bed meets Will’s buttock, his cock hanging heavy and sticky, and also close to release.

 

“Oh God…”

 

A strangled noise, an audible click of swallow, the sound of grunting and shifting sheets and the bed shaking under the moving weight…

 

“I can’t—”

 

“ _ Come _ .”

 

Will orgasms suddenly and forcefully, with a graceless, writhing arch off the bed. Hannibal can feel the involuntary spasm of muscles just before the second in which Will’s orgasm hits. He palms Will’s cock firmly and then draws the steel rod up and right out of him. The heightened sensitivity to the tip of his cock draws a loud, echoing yell from the very pit of Will’s chest.

 

Will brings together a long chain of moans and cusses, feeling rather dizzy as his hot release slings over Hannibal’s hand and his own belly. He shudders, watching with a dazed look at how carefully Hannibal raises the sleek rod to his lips, and laps the thin white droplet stringing off the very end. Like a mewling cat, like a hungry beast, like the refined and accomplished chef he is.

 

“Fuck me…”

 

Eventually that’s all that Will can sigh, his body limply curling back to the pillow and soft sheets around him. Hannibal noses at Will’s spent cock and licks up every last drop of semen he can find, from his gloves to the soft dip of belly button. Cherishing and cleaning, and comforting after the forcefulness of the intimate act.

 

“Right now?” Hannibal teases with a smile, looking up at his lover with a sparkle in his eyes. Unbridled affection returned by Will petting and stroking lovingly through his hair. He rests his cheek against Will’s lower belly, soft and warm. Docile.

 

Where Hannibal’s cock was nestled against Will’s buttock and the soft bath towel, there is a sticky mess of release, some of which has been smeared into skin. Hannibal orgasmed too, right when Will did, and without so much as a noise.

 

“Maybe tomorrow.” Will sighs again. Hannibal smiles and kisses the silvery ridge of horizontal scar across his abdomen, feeling pride and contentment. He only wonders what he’ll introduce Will to next.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, don't forget to leave kudos and comments. They inspire me and make me smile.
> 
> Also please consider [buying me a coffee for a fic](https://ko-fi.com/murakistags)!


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